


interconnect

by Phierie



Series: Phierie's Stephen Strange Bingo 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Communication, Gen, Insomnia, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Endgame, Stephen Strange Needs a Hug, Stephen Strange-centric, shared emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-12 21:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18455267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phierie/pseuds/Phierie
Summary: The snap has been undone, and Stephen and company find themselves making their way across the galaxy from Titan, back to Earth.Stephen is running on empty and rest is hard to come by, but a new ally might be able to help.





	interconnect

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt 'Empathic Healing'. Some context: this is set after the snap has been undone, Stephen, Peter and the three guardians came back to life on Titan, and are now travelling back to Earth.
> 
> Figured I should get this one out before Endgame drops, for obvious reasons. It's already not canon compliant with Endgame since I must've started writing this idea before the trailer, so at that point I imagined Tony and Nebula would take Nebula's ship back to Earth leaving the Benatar for the others to use at a later date. It's not a huge detail for this particular scene so for the sake of this fic, and my sanity, I just left it as is. Hope that's ok!

For once, the ship is quiet, almost eerily so. Auto pilot has them set on a course to Kessel x0173, some fifty thousand light years from Earth. Whatever the Q-ships were running that got them from Earth to Titan in less than 24 hours, the Benatar – which has certainly seen better days since it got caught in the crossfire of the battle on Titan and sat gathering dust for god knows how long – doesn’t have it. Kessel x0173 is the last stop before they can make the jump back to earth.

That’s about the gist of it that Stephen managed to gather, at least. He didn’t ask for the details, knew he probably wouldn’t understand them. But - only a couple of days before they are back on earth. That’s all that matters. The thought fills him with something like relief, something like dread.

The ship is quiet, his companions having retired for a while in search of rest, but Stephen is still up. He pads through the narrow hall; the cold makes him shiver. They turned the heating down to conserve energy, Quill told him in passing. Not exactly a comforting thought. When he passes Quill’s room he hears the soft sound of snoring, door open a little way as always.

Stephen continues down to the central room. Whether it’s that he can’t sleep, or doesn’t want to, he’s not sure; either way the result is the same. Without his travelling companions awake though the distractions are harder to come by, and he can feel himself slipping. His exhausted body and mind long for oblivion, but sleep offers little in the way of rest. No, Stephen only has to close his eyes and images of Titan appear before him - _first he’s dying, then the others are, one by agonising one, then Tony is holding Peter’s prone and lifeless body and looking at him with the most despaired and hateful eyes he has ever seen –_

So. Stephen can’t stop, not even for a moment. He can’t let himself _think_ , because looking into alternative futures fourteen million times and thinking is a sure-fire way to drive even the sharpest sorcerer into insanity. And he can’t let his subconscious take over for much the same reasons.

He’s not even sure how long he’s been awake – the days quickly blurred into one undistinguishable lump. The ship is claustrophobic, all sleek metal and futuristic lines and _gods_ , he hates it. Misses home so badly it turns bile in his throat.

Stephen’s pretty sure that, if it wasn’t for the kid, he’d have cracked already. But he needs to get Peter home, and while he holds no doubt that the guardians are trustworthy and capable of doing that themselves, well. He still feels responsibility, even if it is in a way that seems to eat at his insides and twist at what little good there is left in his heart when Peter looks at him with those lost, worried eyes.

Stephen sways a little on his feet and the cloak steadies him, flapping gently against his wrist in concern. “I’m fine,” he mutters to the relic, but it draws in a little closer around him all the same.

The lights in the central quarters are dimmed, nearly out save for the glowing displays here and there around the walls. Stephen expects to find the room empty but starts when he sees a figure sitting on one of the cramped benches, and instinctively slinks back into the gloom of the hallway. It’s Mantis, and she doesn’t appear to have noticed his presence. Stephen has already turned to retreat to his quarters, not wishing to disturb, when a thought catches in his mind.

Something of a foolish idea, but one he can’t shake off. Through pieced recollections he has come to know the three guardians far better than he should from the few days they have spent together, and from it – he knows he would trust them all with his life. But Mantis, perhaps most of all. 

There is a warmth about her, something innocent and yet deeply wise all at once, a seemingly unending capacity for compassion. To him, now, it’s surely the most admirable thing about her. She reminds him a little of Christine, and his heart aches something terrible at the thought.

He stands in the hallway for a few seconds, contemplating the _ifs_ and _buts_ and _‘bad idea, Stephen’s_ that his mind supplies, but in the end pure exhaustion wins out. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Stephen walks slowly over to the padded bench where Mantis sits and as he does, she looks over, melancholy expression changing in a flash to something put on, cheery and upbeat.

“Good evening, Mantis,” Stephen greets, though he supposes such qualifiers have little meaning in the void of space. But anyway.

“Ah, Doctor Strange.”

“Call me Stephen, please. May I?” he asks, gesturing to the space on the seat beside her.

“Of course,” Mantis replies, and gives perhaps a genuine smile this time. Stephen sits down with a soft sigh he can’t supress.

“What are you doing awake?” he asks, legitimately curious.

“Oh,” she starts, perhaps surprised at the question. “I slept earlier, a bit. But now – ah, I was just thinking. About the rest of our companions, actually.”

“Rocket, Groot, and… Gamora, right?” Stephen asks, though he knows that’s correct. He knows about those three, as well – though mainly through snippets, throwaway lines. It’s enough to piece together some kind of picture.

“Yes,” Mantis replies. Her wide eyes darken slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen murmurs into the quiet that falls between them. “About Gamora.” Gods, he’s a hypocrite; he hates shallow platitudes. The words sound weak to his own ears, even if he means them. He finds he doesn’t know what else to say, though.

Mantis smiles ruefully. “Thank you, but… it’s okay. There’s nothing you could have done, Doctor Strange,” she says, and Stephen knows all too well how true the statement is. If nothing else this whole situation has served as a reminder of just how powerless he really is, in the grand scheme of things.

“The others - they are good people,” Mantis continues, “I’m glad to be able to call them friends.” She stops, and a small smile quirks at her lips as she turns to regard Stephen. “I think you and Gamora would get along well. She is – ah, was - very serious, also. Sometimes too much – or, at least, that is what Peter says.”

Stephen smiles back, although his heart fills with the sense of something like loss, for someone he hasn’t even met. Being around the others, the feeling is tangible. “I would’ve liked to meet her,” he says truthfully.

Mantis nods in reply, and the melancholy expression returns.

“But your other friends, the ones who went with Thor. We’ll see them soon,” Stephen assures her. This, he remembers. _When they step off the ship into the crisp morning air of upstate New York, the first to greet them are the racoon and the curious tree creature; Peter walks off the ship behind him but when he catches the sight of Tony Stark he runs over and pulls the older man into a hug, they’re both crying_.

The rest is a blur, and even that image seems to slip away the more he thinks on it, replaced with other – less successful - alternates. Nearly enough to make him second guess, but it’s the only assurance he has to cling to right now, so cling to it he does.

“Yes, I hope so,” Mantis says. “I’m looking forward to seeing your Earth. Peter has told us much about it.”

Stephen chuckles. “Yeah,” he murmurs in reply, running a hand roughly through his tangled hair, eyes drifting closed of their own violation. His hands are shaking badly, and hurt like hell, as they have been the past few days. “Might’ve changed a little since then.”

Stephen rests his forehead against a palm, and after a beat of silence, Mantis’ soft voice perks up again:

“Are you alright, Doctor Strange?”

“I’m -” The lie comes to his lips so instinctively, as it always does these days, but this time Stephen catches himself. “I… actually, I wanted to ask a favour of you, Mantis.”

“Oh? What is it?” she asks immediately. “However I can be of service, I’d be happy to help.”

Stephen looks over to Mantis’s inquisitive, open face, and tries not to falter. “Your powers - I know you can induce sleep, but I was wondering if you could do so… well, dreamlessly.”

Mantis’s head tilts subtly as she considers Stephen’s words, her soft features serious. “To make someone sleep without dreams? Yes, of course, I can.” Her eyes widen slightly in realisation of his request. “Oh… would you like me to do that, now?”

“Please. It would be most appreciated,” Stephen admits with tired relief.

“Of course.” She brightens again and stands from the bench, posture proper and hands neatly folded in front of her as always, not betraying the fatigue from the week or so spent travelling that everyone seems to be feeling.

Mantis leads Stephen back through the hall to his borrowed quarters. She instructs he lie down on the bunk, and he’d be lying to say he doesn’t feel slightly self-conscious as he does. If Mantis acknowledges the oddity of the situation, she doesn’t show it – perhaps she’s used to it, or simply doesn’t care, which is refreshing in itself.

“Just relax. It won’t hurt,” Mantis tells him, as if that was a worry. Still, he tenses up when Mantis brings her hand close to his, resting over the covers, her antennae emitting that soft and vaguely eerie glow.

At the contact, Mantis gasps, and flinches so hard she almost breaks away. Her body shudders as if Stephen has passed even his tremors into her through the empathy. She looks over, gaze full of deep despair and pain, and they share a knowing look as their eyes meet.

“Doctor Strange…” she begins in a shaky voice, but Stephen lifts his free hand to his lips and offers a wink, a pitiful attempt at alleviating the situation.

“I think now you know why I asked this favour. If we could keep this between us, I’d be very grateful.”

Mantis sniffs, and nods a heavy head, but her eyes are filled with sadness and reluctance, and, oh – even that sight makes Stephen’s throat burn with guilt, and regret of asking in the first place.

“If that’s what you wish. I’ll make you sleep now,” she says softly, and the last thing Stephen remembers seeing before blissful oblivion takes him is her dark eyes welling up with tears.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks very much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you thought, if you have the time and inclination to do so, I would love to know! catch me on tumblr and other good social media platforms @phierie(e)


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